


Long Day

by memesf0r0ne



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Gen, I did not know humanity was a real character, Implied Friendship, Implied/Referenced Books Coming to Harm, Is this a trope?, bazamm!, but okay, disappeared, go ahead, i did a word count and it said this had 550 words, now it's saying two of those words just, okay AO3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 11:23:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20275114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memesf0r0ne/pseuds/memesf0r0ne
Summary: If he was being quite honest, he didn’t want to deal with anybody today. All he wanted to do was curl up in one of his armchairs with a nice book for a century or so. But he was an angel, and was expected to be responsible.





	Long Day

Days as a mortal are difficult. They’re overly busy, toilsome, and though many don’t think about it as often as they perhaps should, a ton of threats are highly probable at any moment. Because mortals are volatile.

Typically, immortal entities are not as volatile. Sure, there’s a hell (or, in some cases, heaven) ton of paperwork if you’re discorporated, but besides that, there isn’t the risk of getting sick, or contracting a disease, or anything like that. But this immortal, ethereal,  _ not occult _ being was being watched by Heaven and Hell, and now, many on Earth. Frankly, it was nearly too much to bear.

Aziraphale approached his bookshop, thankful to find that the sign was flipped to “closed” and the door was locked. Despite this, he sensed another presence when he opened the door.

If he was being quite honest, he didn’t want to deal with anybody today. All he wanted to do was curl up in one of his armchairs with a nice book for a century or so. But he was an angel, and was expected to be responsible for...whatever the opposite of tempting people was, he supposed. Crowley was good at what he did. As far as Aziraphale knew, the demon  _ enjoyed _ the job of tempting humans. Firmly, he believed Crowley wasn’t evil, deep down, but still enjoyed nearly harmless pranks to twist the patience of people. The angel’s adversary ― and friend ― was highly optimistic. Unfortunately, seeing as they seemed to be complete opposites save a few details, Aziraphale was rather pessimistic for an angelic principality.

Which, he supposed, landed him in his present situation.

“Angel! How was your day?”

Aziraphale was in the process of pulling a book off the shelf, and startled so badly that he dropped it. Using a minor miracle, Crowley grabbed it and replaced it on the shelf, knowing how much the angel loved the few books that had been recovered from the fire, or returned from customers afterwards. Dammit, the fire. He didn’t need to get caught on that brain tangent.

“What are you doing here?” said Aziraphale quietly, a dangerous tone in his voice.

“Mm, waiting for you, the like.”

“I’ve got that. Why?” demanded Aziraphale.

“Oh, I dunno. We’re friends, right? Thought you’d like some company.”

“Well, maybe I didn’t!”

The exclamation surprised Crowley. “Uhh, sorry. I didn’t― I didn’t think―”

“Of course you didn’t,” Aziraphale sighed.

Usually, when it was these two, silence meant unspoken things would be understood, and often misunderstood after a second thought. Now, it was uncomfortable. It was unspoken, because neither had anything to speak. They didn’t know what to say.

Aziraphale went to retrieve his book from the shelf, and Crowley reached over the side of the chair he was draped on to grab a drink from atop the side coffee table. Then, Aziraphale went to sit down in the chair perpendicular to the one Crowley sat on. (No, not in.  _ On _ .) He cracked open his book, and Crowley put the bottle to his mouth.

“It’s been a long day,” said Aziraphale without looking up.

“You’re home now,” responded Crowley, his tone nearly soft. But of course, it wasn’t soft. He’s a demon. Demons are not soft under any circumstances. Of course.

“As are you, dear.”

“Ngk,” said Crowley intelligently.

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to Queen's "Too Much Love Will Kill You" while writing this, I hope that explains a lot.


End file.
